


to be wounded by your own understanding of love

by mintpearlvoice



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lenore (Castlevania) is Her Own Warning, Post-Castlevania (Cartoon) Season 3, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Relationship, nerds who flirt by talking about animal care at each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintpearlvoice/pseuds/mintpearlvoice
Summary: Jaida al-Faraj, whose name keeps getting mangled into something approximating "Julia Laforeze," roams Europe as part of a mercenary band in order to search for her kidnapped brother. On the verge of losing hope, she finds a clue to his whereabouts- in the form of a distractingly beautiful man who is the prisoner of a vampire queen.
Relationships: Hector/Julia Laforeze, Hector/Lenore (Castlevania), Isaac Laforeze & Julia Laforeze
Comments: 9
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the poem On Love, by Kahlil Gibran

Whenever she handles the mercenary company’s payment (she’s not a front-line fighter, just the healer, but she has the best head for numbers) whether it’s in a well-appointed tent or a cold fortress or a throne room lit by burning torches, she makes the same request: “My name is Julia of Cairo. I seek my brother Isaac, who was stolen from our family as a boy. I have heard our noses and chins are the same, and that he is this many palm-widths taller than me, and that he practices magics of resurrection and death.” Her name isn’t quite Julia of Cairo, but no one here has the skill with languages to get it right. She resigns herself to being called Julia, and grits her teeth in resignation.

In Novgorod, in Smolensk, in Kiev, the answer is the same. “Milady, we know nothing of this man you seek” and “There are no necromancers here.”

Just her luck.

She misses fresh fruit and baths and properly cooked food, and she wants to go home.

But she misses her twin brother more.

Jaida’s magic isn’t flashy. She can’t summon fireballs and whirlwinds like a Speaker magician, and she leans more towards healing others than fighting on the front lines. She knows anatomy, she washes her hands a great deal, and she can heal grievous wounds through the force of her will alone. Sometimes she has mystic dreams of prophecy.

It’s nothing extravagant, but it keeps her from being helpless. She decided at a young age that she never wanted to be helpless again.

When Jaida was twelve, she returned from a lesson with her tutor at the House of Wisdom to find a horrible scene. The dried figs she was eating fell from her hand as her stomach clenched like a fist. Her father was slain on the tiled steps, his blood staining the grout. Wounded servants and guards lay all about the household. The only sound was muffled sobbing; picking up her skirts and breaking into a run, she followed the quiet cries of grief to find her mother lying under the bed, weeping bitterly. “Oh, Jaida- your father- your brother Ishaq-“

One of her father’s business rivals had stolen her eldest brother and given him as a prisoner to a trader bound for al-Andalus, in Spain. They had every ship in the harbor searched, but her brother didn’t turn up. Either he had been well hidden, or the ship had already left. Even writing to the family’s contacts abroad unearthed no information about what might have happened to him.

Her twin brother had been her whole life. They’d apprenticed together under an uncle who was a physician, pouring over every book they could find, scouring the market for dead animals they could dissect to better understand the structure of the body, sneaking over the garden wall to hear mystics recite poetry. It was Ishaq who’d said “Jaida’s too clever to just be a silk merchant; one of our younger siblings ought to inherit the business instead. She can save lives. She has a gift,” and persuaded their father and mother that she didn’t have to follow in their footsteps.

Was there anyone in the world who really understood her, now that he was gone?

With her copy of The Canon of Medicine and a litter of flea-bitten kittens she was nursing, Jaida retreated to her rooms. She read until there was no longer enough light to read by and wept into her cats’ fur and got thoroughly, intangibly drunk on the salt wine of grief. At some point within the delirium, her pain bled into prophecy. Dreams where she was seeing through her brother’s eyes, hearing harsh words barked in a foreign tongue, feeling cruel blows rain down.

She prayed for knowledge. Could she get a name, an address, a map? Nope. Just nightmares.

Nightmares, and the startling ability to heal injuries with a mere touch.

Ten years later, after her mother’s death, she learned that her brother had become a forgemaster in Dracula’s army, and that Dracula had been slain. She sold her medical practice and the grand house she’d grown up in to pay for passage on a ship to Europe. However, even in Wallachia, no one knew if her brother was dead or alive. While she scoured the countryside for anyone who had news of him, and tried not to get burned as a witch for knowing about handwashing, she’d fallen in with an all-female mercenary group.

It was early spring, and they’d heard about a vampire queen hiring a huge mercenary army. And the rate she was paying? Incredible. At this kind of pay, they wouldn’t have to take another job until next year. It even made working for a vampire worthwhile.

When she goes to negotiate the rate, she asks about her brother, the same speech as always. The woman sitting before her on a throne, whose name is Lenore, gasps demurely.

“Oh, yes! I’ve heard of him! In fact, we have someone who might be able to tell you something about him.”

Tears spring to Jaida’s eyes. It’s the first helpful, hopeful thing she’s heard since coming to this cold horrible land with no running water. “Really?”

“Absolutely! Why, if we can’t help you, I’ll add an extra hundred coins to your fee.”

It’s almost too good to be true, but Jaida has no reason to mistrust her yet. “Can you tell me more?”

She giggles, covering her fanged mouth with a delicate hand. “Well, you see, I can’t, but my pet can. All you have to do is follow the path through the herb garden, and then you’ll see the guest house. Afterwards, one of my servants can give you directions back to your merry band of fighting women.”

Lenore must have captured one of Isaac’s night creatures. Maybe one that can tell her where he went- maybe it even has a psychic bond with its creator! At long last, she’ll have an ally in her quest. 

The guest house is a little cottage, maybe one or two rooms, with twining blackberries planted outside. She tests the door. It’s not locked. “Lenore sent me,” she calls out, and darts inside-

There’s one piece of furniture in the room she enters. It’s a huge four-poster bed with red silk sheets. And there’s a man on the bed. More specifically- a man shackled to the bed, his toned limbs spread-eagled and chained to the posts. Although a blindfold covers his eyes, exhaustion and despair radiate from the agonized set of his mouth, the brutal-looking scratches (a knife? fingernails) that coat his torso.

Is this what Lenore meant when she referred to her pet? 


	2. Chapter 2

It almost doesn’t feel worth noticing that he’s beautiful.

A lean yet chiseled picture of masculine perfection, with strong features and a sensual mouth, and silver hair that falls in waves almost to his shoulders. He looks like he’s been tortured. The fact that he’s attractive shouldn’t be something her mind comments on, and yet it would be impossible for her not to notice.

Still. Her gaze really ought not to linger so long.

Jaida doesn’t know anything about this man, but she knows that Lenore is far too clever to forget leaving a man bound and naked. _She wanted me to see him like this. To humiliate him._ No prisoner deserves to be treated this way.

Judging by how still he is, the measured rise and fall of his chest, it seems like he’s asleep. Maybe if she just leaves quietly-

The door creaks.

At once he startles awake with a gasp, thrashing against his chains. That pulls on the collar around his neck, making him cough and splutter. He catches his breath and starts to talk frantically. “Lenore- milady- forgive me for sleeping in your presence without permission. Did I do something to displease you?”

Fuck. Anguished, Jaida presses a hand over her mouth, fighting an urge to either gag or scream. When Lenore referred to her pet, she really was talking about an actual human person. How uncaring and sadistic was she? How cruel did you have to be to treat someone else like that? To instill that kind of fear in someone’s voice?

He continues to babble, panic swelling in his voice: “If there is a guest you wish me to serve, I’d be happy to do whatever it is you ask of me. I can be ready in an instant, unless you’d prefer for me to be unprepared and experience more pain…”

For once in her life, Jaida is speechless. She can’t think of anything to say.

“…m-milady?” His muscles tighten, as if he expects to receive a blow at any moment.

_Lenore has some kind of control over this man. And she’s offering him to her mercenaries for sexual use. He thinks I’m going to hurt him._

_She thinks everyone is just like her._

“I’m not Lenore,” she manages at last. “She isn’t here. Do you want me to unchain you? I have some dried fruit and meat… you look like you could use a good meal.”

All the air whooshes out of his lungs when he sighs. “Hell fucking yes.”

He’d probably feel more comfortable if he could see her, right? She takes off the blindfold first.

When he looks at her, for a moment she forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. He has the most uncanny eyes. So alert, despite all the pain he must be suffering, and ice-blue like a wolf’s.

She doesn’t look at his cock when she’s unchaining his ankles. Well… she doesn’t look at his cock on purpose.

“Where are your clothes- do you have anything to wear?”

“Only when I’ve been good. Lenore is displeased with me at the moment, as you could perhaps guess. I think I might have some pants, though…”

Even with the pants on, he looks cold; she takes off her coat. It won’t fit him, but he can drape it over his shoulders. “What the hell did you do?”

“Didn’t beg enough. It’s been her pleasure as of late to loan me out to her mercenary captains as payment for a job well done. I suppose she thought you could be bribed with the same coin.”

Jaida isn’t at a loss for words anymore. “What a bitch!”

For a second, the faintest trace of a smile flickers over his gaunt features. Then he leans back against the pillows. He looks like he’s lounging instead of being held prisoner. Like he’s put his body on display instead of being forced to go without a shirt. Like he’s wearing a cloak instead of trying to wrap a cloak too small for him around himself. Effortless. Elegant. “So- why are you here? What is it you want from me?” The way he says that, he’s so resigned to her having an ulterior motive. It tears at her heart. But she needs the information she came here for.

Taking a deep breath, she launches into “My name is Jaida al-Faraj, though around here my name usually ends up pronounced Julia Laforeze, or something like it. When I was just a girl, my brother, Ishaq, was kidnapped and sold to traders by rivals of our family. Sometimes I can see things that happen elsewhere in dreams, and-“

He sits up straighter. “Hold on a moment. Ishaq as in Isaac? Isaac the Forgemaster?”

A sunbeam falls through the window and onto her heart. For so long she has been alone, wandering among strangers in a far-off land. Even her fellow warriors, who wish her well and believe in her quest, seem uncertain that she’s going to find her brother. And now she’s sitting in a vampire’s guest cottage with this beautiful, battered man who’s not only heard of her brother, but knows him by name.

Alhamdulillah. Praise be to God. She isn’t alone anymore.

She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. “You’ve heard of him- have you met him? Do you know if he’s still alive?” Finally, someone who can answer her questions. Even if, maybe, she doesn’t want to know.

“I mean, last I saw of him, he was. I see no reason why that would’ve changed. He’s a capable fighter and can easily summon night creatures to protect him. Dracula wanted to protect him. He valued his advice, saw him as an honorable man.”

Fuck.

Fuck!

Her twin brother, the other half of her soul, whose torment she’s spent a decade suffering in her nightmares, who she’s prayed for every time she prays- he’s still alive, and she can save him, she can bring him home. All this voyaging through terrible cold lands where there’s no running water and no one believes that women can be doctors? It hasn’t all been for naught.

I’m not going to cry in front of this complete stranger, that would be embarrassing, Jaida tells herself. And then she thinks about her brother the last time she glimpsed him in a mystic vision. The horrible scars on his back, as if someone’s tortured him. The cold look in his eyes. The exhaustion that dogged his steps.

Her resolve to remain dignified and composed lasts about five seconds before she bursts into tears. Her brother. She’s going to find him. They’ll get to go home.

Out of the corner of her eye, before her vision blurs and she has to bury her head in her hands, she sees Hector sort of flail around awkwardly, as if he’s not sure how to react. Footsteps. “Here-“

When she looks up, he’s holding a handkerchief. “Do you, ah-“

“Thank you,” she manages, and blows her nose.

“Do you want a hug? Or, to hold my hand… anything? It doesn’t sit right with me to see someone crying like this and not try to comfort them.”

“I’m sure you’ve had enough people imposing on you and pawing all over you.” Does she want his arms around her? Absolutely. Maybe it’s the fact that they have a common enemy, maybe it’s just his sweet hesitant smile, but even though she’s only just met him, she trusts him so much.

“Julia- Jaida- you wouldn’t be imposing.” His gaze is so steady, so intense. And the way he corrects himself on her name, as if it’s important to him to get it right- and before she can bring himself to move away, his arms are around her, and he’s holding her close.

Jaida hasn’t been with a man (hell, with anyone) since leaving her homeland. Even among the very small population of people who take baths and keep clean, there are a lot of people who are suspicious of her because she’s a woman traveling alone, because she’s not a Christian, because she can do magic. Even her friends in the mercenary band are a little taken aback by her miraculous powers.

He smells like rosemary and rain. He’s so warm that she forgets how cold this terrible continent is. He’s not holding her too tightly, content to just let her rest her head against his shoulder and try to catch her breath. Even if she hadn’t just seen him naked, she would still want him.

Fuck. She wants him.

But she has no illusions. She can guess what Lenore’s done to him. The last thing he probably wants is another woman lusting over him. Making herself pull away, she asks, “Can you tell me what you think happened to my brother?”

Is he flustered? Did what they just shared affect him even a little, even if he’s not swooning the way she is? The way he looks away makes it hard to tell. “He wasn’t among the reported dead. My theory is that Dracula sent him away to protect him, either magically or simply by telling him to leave before the people planning on killing him alive.”

“My dreams… I think he’s still in Europe.”

“Then he’s still in Europe. And I think if he knows I still live, he’ll come looking for me. There’s no way he’ll forgive me for betraying Dracula, and he and Carmilla were never on good terms. You’ve come this far. I know you’ll find him.” He stands up, evidently attempting to stretch his legs, and falters with a hiss of pain.

At once she’s at his side on the floor. “What is it?”

“Just a bruise… I shouldn’t have made her grab my ankle. Wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gotten out of bed before she was done with me.” He touches the wrought-iron ring around his finger. It looks like it’s shaped from sculpted thorns. “She used this to punish me, the way she always does, but she thought I needed an extra reminder. So I got dragged back into bed. Let’s just say vampires have a lot more stamina than humans. ”

“The ring? What does it do?”

“Oh, you know,” he says casually, as if she does know. “Binds my will to hers, makes me subservient, compels my loyalty, allows her to inflict agonizing pain on me whenever she feels like it. I’m just lucky she put it on my finger and not… somewhere else.”

When he sits down, his legs in front of him, she can see every one of Lenore’s slender fingers outlined in a nasty purple just above his foot. _I’m going to kill that woman._ She’s going to get paid for this mercenary gig, find out how to free Hector, lure her brother here. And then she’s going to… well, not torture Lenore, because torture is a sin, but make fucking sure Lenore is aware of the degree to which she will be tortured in Hell before killing her. “Can I heal that?”

“You… I hate to be rude, but you mentioned food?”

“Right- hold on-“

He eats as if starved, licking every fragment of walnut off his palm, chewing noisily.

When she heals him, her hands hovering over his bruised ankle, he makes this soft breathy sound, almost a moan. She pretends she didn’t hear it when he draws back, examining where the bruise was with a critical eye.

“Now that’s useful. I wish I’d been able to do that to some of my animals. But I can only bring back the dead, not heal what’s still living… it’s always hard having to kill them, even if it’s to end their suffering.”

That’s absolutely relatable. “You like animals, too? I’ve got a hound, called Nosewise- well, he’s not my hound, I just sort of acquired him. He just travels with us and keeps watch and he likes me best because I pet him.”

He leans closer. “Now this I need to know. How do you just sort of acquire a hound?”

“He was being used for bear-baiting, and we managed to get the bear to stop following us once we’d freed him, but there seemed no point in turning away a useful dog. And I’ve sort of acquired some cats in Spain who’ve been traveling with us as well- they do a good job of keeping rats away from our provisions. I have a great many cats back home, not that one can own cats. I just feed them and they trust me.”

“I had a dog when I lived in Dracula’s palace. He’d been trampled by a horse… I stayed with him until he died, and then took him home and brought him back. His name is Cezar. I think he might be some sort of Chinese breed, or a spaniel, because he’s got that little squashed-in face. He’s only got half his skull, but you wouldn’t believe how clever he is! He can stand on his hind legs, turn around holding his tail in his mouth, find corpses by their scent- the way he looks at me when I talk, sometimes I even think he understands what I’m saying!”

At once Jaida pictures what he was saying. She can’t help grinning. “I love the way they tilt their little heads.”

His smile. Shit. If she’d thought he was beautiful earlier, when he allowed himself the barest trace of a smirk, he’s radiant now, beaming as he speaks of something he’d loved. “And when you’ve got some morsel of food, and they just stand in front of you-“

She tries to stifle her laughter. It turns into a combination squeak and snort. “With the most pitiful darling little eyes!”

His smile turns softer, sadder. “I’d love to see your dog, someday, the next time I’m allowed out. Carmilla forced me to leave my dog behind at Dracula’s palace… he doesn’t need to eat or drink, and I’m sure he’s clever enough to have found somewhere safe to hide, but I worry about him. I miss him terribly.”

“Nosewise will love you. He can always tell when people love dogs.”

“And the cats? What about them? Do you think they’ll like me?” He sounds so hopeful and uncertain. She halfway wants to embrace him again, to offer him comfort. 

“Oh, they’ll love anyone who feeds them.” And, because he seems like the sort of person who likes learning things and knowing things: “You know, some scholars say that the Prophet Muhammad said that a prostitute who filled her shoe with water to bring to a thirsty dog got into heaven for that alone. And that if someone kills an animal that doesn’t deserve it, even if it’s just a sparrow, God will hold them accountable for it when they die.”

For a moment he’s just… looking at her. They’re just looking at each other.

Then a distant bell tolls the hour, and he startles to his feet, nearly tripping over the blanket he’s wrapped in. “You ought to go. Lenore will be here to collect me at sunset. If she sees you still here, with both of us dressed- she won’t like that at all.” And he starts undressing, quickly but methodically, his shirt first. He could use a good meal, maybe a week’s worth of them. She knows some good cooks.

“When can I see you again?” she blurts out. As if he’s a free man who can make those decisions; as if his time is his own.

“Whenever Lenore decides she wants to reward you again, I suppose. Tell her I cried. I’ll beg her for mercy and then disobey her on some matter too minor to use the ring. She likes having other people punish me- it feeds into her self-image as the benevolent savior, and it’s in my best interest to keep it that way.”

He reaches to hand her her coat right as she reaches to pick it up, and their hands touch. “You really should go,” he says, not letting go of her coat, and “I should, I don’t want to get you in trouble-“ and somehow she leaves, without even one backward glimpse at his uncanny blue eyes, his delicate features. The sun is still orange-gold on the horizon, bleeding color into the cloudy sky.

Jaida walks along the path, the gravel crunching under her sturdy boots. Before, she just had one priority: rescue her brother and get home.

Now she has two. Three, if you count killing Lenore. Either way, her brother isn’t the only one in need of rescuing.

**Author's Note:**

> things i researched for this fic:
> 
> travel between medieval cairo and medieval spain  
> slavery in medieval spain   
> the practice of medicine in medieval cairo  
> female physicians in medieval cairo  
> the economic role of women in the medieval middle east   
> medieval names for dogs  
> muslim POC in medieval europe  
> medieval european soap   
> medical texts in the medieval islamic world
> 
> pretty sure I might have done more research than anyone involved in the production of Castlevania but like,,,,,, whatever


End file.
